Clans of the Sea Challenge: Numbers: Water
Water. The fate of all the Clans. The flame would save them, and the water would destroy them.
So it was with Bluestar, the most selfless leader of ThunderClan to ever hold nine lives for them; Bluestar, who gave up her kits to lead her Clan; Bluestar, whose love defied the laws of her Clan; Bluestar, whose loyalty ended in the death of her lover and finally herself.
Her flame was quenched, the fire of her soul put out, and another carried it on. But what did he give up, the tom with the pelt of flame? His cush life? That was his desire. With Bluestar, there was no desire, only her loyalty. She dreaded to give her kits away, mourned secretly the death of her mate whom she had given up, was driven mad with grief, and sacrificed even herself for her Clan.
Some call Firestar the greatest leader of ThunderClan, but they are those who cannot fathom the depth Bluestar went to ensure her Clan's safety. They cannot imagine the grief she caused herself so that those around her could be happy. If they could, they surely would realize that it is not Firestar, great though he may be, but Bluestar who should hold the title of ThunderClan's greatest modern leader, the Thunderer, who lighted the spark from which her Clan became the blaze of light which ignited the other Clans and burnt out the Darkness from within them.
That blaze, however, was not to last. How could it, when such noble cats as her and her prodige were fallen? When there was no longer a memory of them? When even Bluestar was forgotten, and she faded trying still to kindle the flame to withstand the oncoming storm?
And so, the Clans doomed themselves. By remembering the names of the Dark Ones, and forgetting those of the Flame, they unwittingly fed the Dark Forest stronger and stronger cats. It was a dam waiting to burst, and only needed time to let it crumble.
Crumble it did. The veil between living and dead blurred. The living were so afraid of the Fallen Dark Ones that, by remembering them always, they became stronger and stronger, until the dam that was the Dark Forest simply could not contain them.
It was subtle, at first; a kit missing here, a cat wounded by some strange-smelling rogue there; but it escalated on a scale so quickly, driven by the fear of the living, that the trickle became a stream, the stream a flood. Even those who fled, far, far away, were hunted down, no matter the distance. The Dark Ones could sense them, the fear that drove them, the memories haunting them.
Few living cats remembered their Light ancestors, the Bringers of the Flame. By that time, however, they were so weak they could only watch as the Flood drowned out the flames and sparks.
The flames were quenched by the waters, their ashes blown into oblivion, and the flood burst into steam. The living died, and all the dead died again with them. The water destroyed them all, and then itself.
